


Getting Used to This

by helsinkibaby



Series: Novembers Past [12]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-12
Updated: 2002-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2148276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby meets some of Ginger's family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Used to This

I suppose that there's irony in the fact that despite the fact that I've left the office earlier tonight than I have in quite some time, I'm still running late. I was supposed to leave a good twenty minutes earlier than I did, but Sam had some crisis with a speech that he wanted my advice on, and then Josh came in with something else, and I think that I still would be in the office were it not for the fact that CJ wandered in and looked at me, that curious look on her face that she gets sometimes, and said to me, "Shouldn't you have left already?" Anyone else would have realised exactly what she meant and ushered me out the door, but the Idiot Boys actually asked me what my plans were, despite the fact that I'd mentioned them earlier in the week, and it took hearing where I was supposed to be for them to ask me why I hadn't said something sooner. Not that either one of them had given me the chance. But once they let me off the hook, I didn't have to be told to leave twice.

The streets are strangely quiet as I drive, the late summer evening meaning that there's still plenty of light in the sky. The time of day probably means that much of the city has already left work for the weekend, but it's still too early for the late night revellers to have come out yet. It's a late August Friday night, and I know that by the time I head home, there will be more activity, people trying to enjoy what's left of the summer.

That thought causes me to sigh slightly, because I hate to see this summer go. Which is as much a surprise to me as it is to anybody else. Normally I could care less about the changes in the seasons; I could certainly live without summer. I am not an outdoorsman, and I make no bones about that fact.

The fact of the matter is that this summer has been special.

If I had expressed that thought in the West Wing right now, in the company of Josh and Donna Lyman for example, they'd probably be giving one another lovesick looks as the rest of us roll our eyes. If I were in the company of Sam Seaborn, he'd be off into a rhapsody about Mallory and their relationship, which might or might not have Leo plotting his immediate reassignment to Siberia. And I, of course, would have to pretend to disapprove of their reactions, the better to keep up the image of the surly politico that I've worked so hard on. Inside though, I'm agreeing with each and every sentiment.

This summer started off with a flurry of activity in the West Wing as we all had ringside seats for the nuptials of the star-crossed lovers of the Bartlet Administration. At least, that's what we were spinning it as, and most of the Press, most of America, agreed with us. The likes of Mary Marsh were never going to toe the line, but we handled any negative press that came out way, and Josh and Donna were so happy together that I don't think that they even cared.

The wedding day was as perfect as we could have wished for them, a little debacle with the rings notwithstanding, and that aside, it was a good day for Sam as well, because he met up with Mallory again and the two of them have been dating ever since.

And it was a very good day for me; all because a certain other redheaded woman realised that she was ready to move on with her life.

It took us a long time to get to that point. Almost six years since I found her crying in the garden in Manchester, the night that we won the election. A little more than four years since I hugged her in the bullpen on a night of terror. A little more than three years since I went to her apartment to tell her about the death of a woman who meant the world to her and felt her collapse in my arms. Almost two years since the night that we won re-election, the night that I first realised that my feelings for this woman went far beyond friendship, far, far beyond boss-assistant loyalty.

However, knowing that and acting on it were two very different things. Especially since I knew that, at the time, Ginger wasn't ready for another relationship. So I did something that I would usually consider out of character for me - I waited. Stayed on the periphery of her life, making sure she knew that I was there, both as a boss and as a friend, and I waited until she made the first overture. To be sure, it was me who found her in the Sculpture Garden, me who brought the drinks out, under the guise of carrying on our "tradition", but really to check that she was all right after she gave away her wedding rings, the rings that she'd worn around her neck ever since I'd known her, thinking that she might need the alcohol.

I'd hoped that that was the sign that I'd been waiting for, and when I heard her talking, when she told me that she'd moved on, that's what I proposed the toast to. And when she smiled, and raised her glass to mine, it was something that I'd been waiting for for a long time.

Since then, we've been taking things slowly. Even that night, I did no more than kiss her on the cheek. "I'm not real sure I remember how to do this," she told me in the garden, uncertainty and hope written all over her face, and that's all she had to tell me. She's too important to me for me to risk hurting her by rushing her into something that she's not ready for, and I'm more than willing to follow her lead.

It took almost a week for us to have our first proper kiss, that Sunday afternoon in the park. A week after that, a week filled with more kisses and conversations and time spent together at her place, I went there after work to find her in tears, more upset than I've ever seen her, clearing away any memories of Alan from display. I told her then that she didn't have to do that, that I would never make her choose between her old and new lives.

And I never will.

Except that tonight, her old and new lives are meeting.

Her brother Rick, his wife Deanna and their two children are coming to town for the weekend, and while Ginger's really been looking forward to it, I know that she's nervous about seeing them too. It's the first time that any of her family have seen her since we began dating, and I know that she's wondering how they'll react to me, especially considering how close Rick and Alan were. I did meet Rick once before, a couple of years ago, but it was during the summer right before the re-election campaign when he was in the office briefly, waiting for Ginger, so it was more a case of a quick nod and handshake than a real meeting. It was nothing like dinner tonight is going to be.

Dinner for which I'm running late, which is probably not the best way to make a good impression.

That's the thought that goes through my mind as I park outside her apartment, going inside and knocking on her door. I can hear conversation from inside, and then the door is opened, and Ginger gives me a big smile. "You're here," she tells me, stepping aside to let me in.

"I am," I reply, waiting until the door is closed to slip my arm around her waist quickly, kissing her on the cheek. That seems like the proper thing to do when I'm not sure who, if anybody, is watching us, but Ginger seems to have other ideas because she pulls me back to her when I try to pull away, and she presses her lips to mine. When she pulls back, her eyes are dancing and her smile is far more content.

"That's more like it," she tells me, and I can't help but smile back at her.

"I know I'm late," I begin to tell her after I hang up my coat, my hands finding her hips as hers rest on my shoulders. "But Sam had a thing…"

"Ssssh." She shakes her head. "You're here now." One of her hands slips down and finds mine, squeezing it tightly. "You ready to meet the troops?"

That does not sound like something that I'm eager to do, but I suppose there's no time like the present. "Lead on," I tell her, bringing our joined hands to my lips quickly.

We walk down the hall and into the living room, where a man and a woman are sitting side by side on the couch. They both stand when they hear us coming, and turn to face us, and I'm reminded once again of my initial impression when I first met Rick two years ago - there's no way that you'd mistake him for anything but Ginger's brother. Tall, a little over six feet, he's got the same red hair, same blue eyes and same smile as his sister, a sight which caused double takes all over the West Wing. His wife is around the same height and build as Ginger, but her dark brown hair is cut short, her eyes brown. I look them both up and down, and I'm very conscious that they're doing the same thing to me as Ginger squeezes my hand once again. "Toby," she begins. "You remember my brother Rick…"

"Yeah." I reach out and shake his hand.

"…And this is his wife, Deanna," Ginger continues.

"Nice to meet you." I shake her hand too, and she gives me a warm smile, which is nice, considering that Rick's expression is still guarded.

"And you," Deanna tells me. "And it's Dee, please. Every time someone calls me Deanna, I feel like I'm about to get a scolding from my parents."

Beside me, Ginger laughs, and I'm not sure if it's genuine mirth, or relief. "It's the same with me," she agrees. "Every time Mom breaks out the 'Virginia Marie', I feel like I should beg her not to ground me."

"Like she ever had cause to do that with you Gin," Rick tells her, rolling his eyes. "The Stepford daughter."

Dee elbows him none too gently. "That's only because after you four boys, anything else was easy."

Anything else that might have been said, and I'm still partially reeling from the knowledge of Ginger's full name, is interrupted when a small child runs into the room, going straight to Ginger. "Auntie Gin, I'm hungry," she announces, staring right up at Ginger, ignoring everyone else in the room. Dee and Rick look like they're not sure whether to scold her for a lack of manners or burst out laughing, and Ginger just squats down so that she can look the child in the eye.

"Alannah honey, aren't you going to say hi to Toby?" She puts an arm around the girl and points to me, and when the child turns to face me, my breath catches in my throat, and it's all I can do not to let my surprise show on my face. If Rick is unmistakably Ginger's brother, then this little girl could be her daughter, if not a miniature version of her. Same hair, same eyes, same everything - it's like looking back into the past. Or maybe, God willing, into the future.

That thought is only making its way through my head when the girl's name settles in my brain, and looking at her size, only being able to approximate her age, I have a memory of Ginger appearing in my office some five years ago, telling me that her brother's wife was going to have a baby and that she wanted to go home to New Jersey that night. And I knew what it meant to her, knew what her family meant to her, and I didn't even think about making it difficult for her. I told her to go, and when she came back I pretended not to look at the baby photographs that were on her desk, tried not to make it obvious that I was listening when she told Bonnie or Cathy all about the baby.

I knew when I heard the name that they'd called the baby after Alan, and wondered how she felt about that. Once I heard that she was going home for the christening so that she could be the godmother, I thought that she must be fine with it, but I didn't bring up the matter with her, because it wasn't my place.

Although it was easy to think that way at the time. Now that I'm faced with the reality of this little girl, who looks so like Ginger and who bears her late husband's name, I'm wishing that I'd asked her more.

I'm hoping that all this isn't obvious on my face, but Alannah seems to be struck dumb by this stranger in her midst, and Ginger is looking from one of us to the other, waiting for one of us to make the first move. "Hi Alannah," I say to her, leaning down closer to her, but not touching her, not wanting to scare her any further. Not that that seems to work, because she presses closer to Ginger and wraps her arms around Ginger's neck. Ginger pats her on the back, chuckling lightly and there are laughs from Dee and Rick.

"She's not usually this shy," Ginger tells me, tickling her niece, and the girl squeals with delight. "Come on munchkin," she adds. "Why don't you come with me and we'll get the dinner ready."

"I'll get Emily," Dee says, and with that, there's a veritable exodus from the room, Ginger throwing me a grin over her shoulder as I'm left alone with Rick.

We look at one another, nodding slightly, both of us well aware of the awkwardness of the moment. Absurdly, I feel as if I'm back in high school, with my girlfriend's father, or older brother, wanting to know whether my intentions are honourable. Which, I realise, isn't so absurd after all.

"Gin was telling you the truth," Rick says, breaking the silence, and I'm not quite sure what he means. "Alannah's usually a livewire," he adds, and I nod.

"Maybe it's the beard," I shrug, and he nods, and we fall into another silence, during which Dee walks through the room on her way to the kitchen, a smaller child in her arms. I know that Emily is three, and her colouring is more like her mother than Rick and Ginger, at least, the long dark hair that I can see. Dee gives me a small smile as she passes, and Rick gets a different look that I recognise from my own marriage, but I'm not sure what it means in this context.

"She told me about you, you know." I look sharply over at Rick at that. "When you first began dating I mean. But before that too. I remember a couple of Christmases ago, the one right after Bartlet got re-elected. She came home and there was something different about her, something fragile. As if something had changed with her. I talked to her about it, and it was just a guess, but I asked her if there was someone else. She told me that there was, but that he was just a friend, but that she thought there might be something there. She didn't know if she was ready."

I remember a white dress, holding her in my arms a month later at the Inaugural Ball, the flash of pain in her eyes when she told me that that dress was almost the same colour as her wedding dress. The night that I finally took off my own wedding ring.

"I told her that if the guy was worth it, if he was a good guy, then he'd wait. And when she told me before we came here that she wanted us to meet someone, I asked her if it was the same guy. She said that it was."

"She was worth the wait," I tell him simply, and he nods.

"The last time I was here, when I saw her at the White House, I hardly recognised her as my little sister. I wasn't kidding earlier, she was always the quietest of us. Comes from having four older brothers I guess. Alan, he was good for her. Brought her out of herself, you know? I never saw her as happy as she was when she was with him. And when he died…" Rick's voice trails off and he shakes his head. I can see him swallow hard before he continues. "He was my friend. Not just my sister's husband. Losing him was bad enough. But seeing what it did to her… I thought it'd kill her."

"When she told us that she was packing up and moving to New Hampshire, we got together as a family to talk about it. And all of us, we were convinced that she'd gone round the bend. She'd hardly left the house in six months, and now she was upping sticks and going where she knew nobody, at a time when she needed her family most of all? We were all dead against it, were trying to come up with ways to stop her. That's when Mom stepped up. She told us that none of us knew what we were talking about, that when Ginger told her what she was planning that it was the first time that she'd seen her look alive in months, and that if it took leaving everything she knew to help her get her life back on track, then Ginger would have her support." He chuckled. "My mom's pretty feisty when she gets going, I've got to warn you."

I smile, thinking of the times that I've seen Ginger displaying her own brand of feistiness. "Her daughter's no slouch either."

"She'd come back home for the holidays, and sometimes, it was hard to get a handle on how she was. She'd put up a good front, and then she'd disappear. When she'd come back, you'd know that she'd been off crying somewhere, but she was hiding it, and if you asked her, she'd brush you off. But she seemed happy enough when I talked to her, and Dee and everyone else said the same thing. And then I visited her that time." He shakes his head in what looks like amazement. "When I saw her, when I saw what she does everyday…I couldn't believe that it was my little sister, juggling seventeen things at once. This other guy, Sam, he was giving her a hard time over something, and I'm telling you, I was ready to step in and warn him against talking to my baby sister like that. And she just turns around and puts him in his place with a couple of words. Five minutes later, he was back at her desk with a chocolate muffin as an apology. That's when I knew that this job was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time."

"Your sister is an incredible woman."

"I know." His eyes meet mine, and an understanding passes between us. "I'll be honest with you Toby. When she told me about the two of you, I wasn't wild on the idea. No offence, but you're older than she is, you're divorced, you're her boss…" I'm nodding my head, because this is nothing that I haven't thought of myself. Funnily enough, it's never come up in a discussion between me and Ginger, not once. "And then I listened to her. Really listened to her. And I could hear how happy she was. Then when the doorbell rang tonight, it was like her whole face lit up. It's been a long time since I saw that. A long time." He looks down at his shoes momentarily. "You make her happy Toby." He shrugs. "And that's the most important thing. She's had too much heartbreak in her life."

I nod, looking down myself. "I know."

"Just don't hurt her."

The words are simple and direct, and they make me look up at him, and I hope that my sincerity is clear in my eyes. "She's the last person in the world that I'd ever hurt."

Rick nods. "That's good then."

Silence reigns again as we stand, and that's how Ginger finds us a minute later. "Guys?" she says, and we turn to face her. Her gaze flits from one to the other looking for signs of damage I think, and Emily and Alannah are clinging to either hand. I feel myself grin at the sight. "Everything ok out here?"

Rick and I exchange a quick glance and nod in unison as I say, "Yeah," at the same time that Rick says, "We're good."

Ginger's eyes narrow and she looks from me to him a couple more times before she seems to accept that. "Ok…" she says slowly. "Dinner's ready."

*

It's Saturday afternoon, and once again I find myself driving through the same streets that I drove through last night, on my way to Ginger's apartment. Once dinner was served, any awkwardness seemed to just disappear from the room; maybe it was just that Rick and I had done our macho manly bonding thing (I'm quoting Ginger as she kissed me goodnight here) and we knew where we stood with one another. Maybe it was the fact that Alannah recovered her tongue halfway through the meal, and true to the words of her parents and her aunt, she's a little chatterbox. Ainsley Hayes has nothing on her.

After dinner and dessert, and ice cream aplenty for the little ones, they were falling asleep on the couch, so Ginger and Emily took them to bed. Rick and I were deep in a discussion about the Giants versus the Jets, and honest to God, we barely even noticed them go. And when they came back, the evening somehow managed to become about reliving all of Ginger's childhood, and we sat together, me in the armchair, her perched on the arm as Rick and Dee shared the couch. I will admit to getting great enjoyment out of watching her flush red with embarrassment, having no qualms about hitting me in the arm if she thought that I was taking too much pleasure at her expense.

When it got late, I made my excuses and she walked me to my car, but we took our time going down the hall, stopping for a few precious minutes to sit wrapped in one another's arms on her stoop, watching the world go by, watching each other, talking about Rick and Dee, me reassuring her that we really had got along as well as it seemed. Some heart-stoppingly gentle kisses later, I was in my car, driving away, watching her grow smaller in the rear view mirror, arms wrapped around herself, not moving until I disappeared from sight.

My dreams last night, though I would never admit it to anyone, were of sitting on that same stoop, arms around Ginger, as we watched little red headed children playing hopscotch.

Our plans for today have been set in stone for a while now. Ginger, for obvious reasons, has the weekend off. She even got to take a half day yesterday, which resulted in some good-natured teasing from Bonnie along the lines of that if she'd known that you got half days when you were dating the boss, she'd have made a move on me a long time ago. I followed my usual Saturday routine, going to temple in the morning and putting in a couple of hours in the office. Normally, I would stay longer, but this isn't a normal day.

When I get to Ginger's apartment, it takes a while for her to come to the door, and when she does, she's got a beaming smile for me. "Hey," she says, kissing me on the cheek quickly. I wonder for a moment if she's going to follow it up with the same kind of kiss as she did last night, but from the speed at which she walks back down the hall, I realise not.

"Hey," I reply, following her. "Rick and Dee get off ok?"

Once she heard that Rick was visiting and bringing his family with him, Ginger instantly told him that he and Dee should take Saturday to themselves. They protested of course, telling her that they couldn't in all good conscience leave her with the kids all day, but Ginger told them that she'd like nothing more than to spoil them for the day. Then she went one better and convinced them to spend the night at a hotel and really spoil themselves, and she and I would look after the kids.

I was a little surprised when she told me about her plans, even more surprised when she convinced me to go along with it. I love my own nieces and nephews, but I've never taken care of them on my own before. After thinking about it, it didn't seem like such a bad idea, and I knew that I couldn't say no when I saw how much it meant to her.

It seems like an even better idea when I walk into the living room now and Alannah, who was lying on the floor, colouring, looks up and sees me there. Her face lights up in a smile and she leaps up, squealing my name and running over to me. Her little arms fling themselves around my knees and she hugs me tightly. I grin down at her, then over at Ginger, whose smile looks as if it's going to split her face in half. On impulse, I lean down and pick Alannah up, swinging her up high as she giggles in delight. When I set her down, Emily comes over, pulling at my jacket, with the words, "Me! Me!" so I do the same thing to her. When she's on the ground again, and both my hands are free, Alannah reaches up to take me by the hand. "I drawed you a picture," she tells me, and the sheet is thrust up into my face. I sit down on the couch and she clambers up beside me, pointing out who's who. "This is you, and this is me, and this is Auntie Gin…" There are three blobs holding hands, two with red hair that comes all the way down to the bottom of the page, one with no hair on the top of his head, but tufts of brown crayon at the side, and there's a blue sky and green grass all around them. "It's us in the park," she tells me. "For your office."

"I'll hang it up first thing on Monday morning," I promise, and from the look on her face, I don't think that Ginger believes me. But I will.

On the other side of me, Emily climbs up too, looking at the picture. "Where me?" she wonders. With a gasp from her sister, the page is snatched from my hands, and Alannah is hastily adding another figure. Emily then decides that she wants to colour too, and before long both of them are lying side by side, sharing their colours, and fighting over the green crayon. I'd be quite happy to sit right here and look at them for the rest of the afternoon, but Ginger's hand on my shoulder distracts me, and I stand, following her into the kitchen.

"How was work?" she asks me as she grabs some plastic cups from the table and puts them into the bag on the table. From the looks of the kitchen, she's making a picnic for us to take to the park, and I'm reminded of the first time that we did that.

"It was fine," I tell her, and she raises an eyebrow in question. "Nothing to report," I add. "Although there was a certain amount of interest as to how I fared with your brother last night."

She grins self-consciously. "At least I know what people will be talking about on Monday," she shrugs. "I think you've got a fan in Alannah though."

"Yeah?" The thought makes me smile.

"Oh yeah. After Rick and Dee left, she kept on asking when you were getting here. I finally got her to sit still by suggesting that she draw you that picture." She pauses at that, looking at me doubtfully. "You don't have to do anything with it or anything."

I pretend to be appalled at her words. "And break my promise?" Her face relaxes into a smile. "It'll go up behind my desk."

She looks as if she's about to say something when a cry of "Auntie Gin!" distracts her, and Alannah comes in, her picture now finished, complete with Emily, and she thrusts it up to me before turning her attention to her aunt again.

"Can we go to the park now?" she pleads, her blue eyes huge, looking from Ginger to me before going over to me and catching her hand in mine, looking up at me beseechingly.

"Sure we can," I find myself saying.

That's the moment that I realise that if this is a glimpse into my future, I'm in a whole lot of trouble, because I just can't say no to those eyes.

A moment later, I realise that I really don't care.

That's the moment that I swing Alannah up into my arms and we head out to the park.

*

Even though I'm not generally fond of the outdoors, I have fond memories of this park. After all, it is where Ginger and I shared our first kiss, after years of dancing around one another. And I know that I'll have even fonder memories of it now; memories of watching the two girls run around chasing one another, Ginger and I keeping one eye on each other and one eye on them. Ginger had packed a lunch for us, and we ate it hungrily, then fed the leftovers to the ducks on the pond, much to Emily's delight. Meanwhile it was when she saw the kids playing on the swings that Alannah really became animated. Nothing would content her but to join them, and of course, that was the time that Emily decided that she needed to go to the bathroom. Ginger was trying to convince Alannah that she could wait a few moments to go on the swings when I found myself speaking out. "It's ok," I said. "I'll bring her over."

Ginger's face betrayed her doubt, but faced with Alannah practically dancing with joy, and Emily tugging on her arm, she knew that she didn't have a choice. She quickly bundled our blanket into her bag, leading Emily off, while Alannah caught me by the arm and led me over to the swings.

It was on our way there that she said something that stunned me. "Toby," she asked me, staring up at me with those innocent blue eyes. "Are you gonna marry Auntie Gin?"

I wanted to stop walking. I wanted to ask her who had put such an idea into her head. I wanted to tell her yes. I did none of those things. Instead I asked, "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because I like you," she said simply. "And Auntie Gin likes you and my mommy and daddy like you too."

"Did they say that?"

"Yep." She nods firmly, her mouth set in a firm line. "Auntie Gin used'ta be married to Uncle Alan, but he died. That's why my name's Alannah. And Mommy told me that Auntie Gin was very sad when Uncle Alan went away, and sometimes she still gets sad. But if you marry her, then you'll be my Uncle Toby and Auntie Gin won't be sad anymore."

My own previous experience of marriage wouldn't speak to that particular assessment, but I'm willing to set that aside for now. Ginger's nothing like Andrea, not even close. "We'll have to wait and see," I finally tell her, and her lip sticks out in a pout.

"Why?" she asks, and I can't help but chuckle, although I cut it off quickly.

"Because sometimes, grown-ups take a long time to make their minds up about something," I find myself saying, and she sighs heavily.

"I know."

I laugh at the downcast look on her face, and by this time, we've reached the swings and I lift her on to one, and soon I'm pushing her, and she's forgotten all about her questions about weddings. At least that makes one of us I realise, as she orders me to go higher and higher.

From my vantage point, I can see Ginger and Emily returning to our previous spot, Ginger looking over to us and waving. Alannah releases one hand from the swing to wave back, and nearly comes a cropper in the process. I ask her if she wants to stop, and she tells me no quite firmly. I can see Ginger talking to Emily, can see Emily shaking her head, and then the two of them take out a ball and begin throwing it back and forth to one another.

Several minutes later, my arms are getting tired from all the pushing, and although I ask twice, Alannah is showing no interest in leaving the swings any time soon. The third time I ask, I decide that a dose of bribery might be in order. "Hey Alannah," I say to her. "You want to get some ice-cream?" There's a van on the other side of the park and I point it out to her, and she squeals something that I think is supposed to be a yes, and can barely wait for the swing to still.

She takes off running to the van, only stopping when she almost runs full tilt into an elderly couple. I run up to them, apologising profusely, but the lady merely laughs, reaching down to pat Alannah on the head. "Don't worry about it," she tells me. "I've raised five children, and I know what they're like."

"That's as maybe," I tell her, my hands on Alannah's shoulders. Even now, she's still trying to run off to the ice-cream van. "Did you say sorry?"

"Sorry," she dutifully parrots, but she sounds like the furthest thing from sorry. "Can I go see what I want?"

The van is only a short distance away, so I let her go, apologising once more to the couple. Again, the woman waves her hand. "It's fine, really," she tells me. "We were actually looking at you and your wife earlier on. You have two beautiful children."

It takes a second for me to realise what's happened, and when I do, I start to shake my head. "They're not ours," I tell her, watching the surprise register on our face. I suppose that's understandable - the resemblance between Ginger and Alannah is remarkable, and I suppose that Emily's colouring and mine aren't all that different. "They're our nieces." And even though they're not my nieces, the words slip out anyway. The woman nods, that explanation making sense to her, and she tells me to enjoy the rest of our day before she and her husband walk off, arm in arm.

I look after them for a moment, then Alannah's voice calling to me has me walking over to her. She's picked her ice-cream, and we get one for Ginger and Emily as well as me, and head back over to the blanket. Ginger gives me a look when I sit down beside her. "You shouldn't have done that," she admonishes, and I give her a look of my own.

"I had to do something to get her off the damn swing," I mutter, purposely keeping my voice low, and I don't think that either child heard me. They're too busy fighting over who can finish their ice-cream first.

"Just for that, you can clean them both up," Ginger threatens, tongue shooting out at the end of the sentence to catch a drop that's about to fall from the cone. I shrug, the threat not having the potency that I think she hoped for, and she must see that, because she frowns slightly at my silence. "What are you thinking?" she wonders.

I look at her, then at the two little girls sitting beside us. Then I look around the park, at the blue sky, at the other people enjoying the day just like we are. And I remember the elderly couple walking arm in arm, how they'd been watching the world go by, just like us. When my gaze turns back to her, her face is still curious, and the words come easily to me. "That I could get used to this," I reply simply.

It takes less than a second for the words to register, and when they do, the smile that breaks across her face is brighter than the sun. And kids or no kids, she leans across and kisses me quickly on the lips before she sits back down on the blanket, closer to me than she was before. "Me too," she says quietly.

There really is nothing more that can be said to that, so we sit in silence, listening to the kids chattering, letting the rest of the world pass us by.

I could definitely get used to this.


End file.
